


You, warm as the darkness

by Sovin



Series: there was something very obvious i could never see or understand [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Emotional Sex, Empath, Established Relationship, M/M, Side Story, Smut, Telepathic Sex, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovin/pseuds/Sovin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras wishes that Grantaire could understand how sincere he is in his love and adoration, especially given words that once cut too deep. And if the only way to show him is to, well, show him, with all the barriers between them down, that's something he can do. A side story to The Dead Knocked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You, warm as the darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer here!
> 
> This probably won't make as much sense if you haven't read [The Dead Knocked](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2458127), to which this is a sequel/side story. (The title of the series is also from the penultimate stanza of Tom Andrews' 'My Twentieth Century': There was something very obvious in the twentieth century/I could never see or understand./The dead knocked on the door of my life in the twentieth century.)
> 
> Here you'll find communication, body worship, and low-level telepath/empath sex! I'm so excited to be posting this finally, and I hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> Many thanks to [samyazaz](http://www.samyazaz.tumblr.com) and [annaroserae](http://www.annaroserae.tumblr.com) (especially given our Bossuet levels of luck at getting this where it needed to be!) for their super helpful betaing and comments as I put this together!
> 
> As always, please come say hi on [my tumblr](http://www.sovinly.tumblr.com)!

"I want to try something," Enjolras said, impulsively voicing the idea that he’d been toying with for a week as he played with the soft tufts of Grantaire's curls and they sprawled back against the pillows of Enjolras' bed, soaked in the golden late afternoon sun.

Grantaire, who had been half-dozing against Enjolras’ shoulder, glanced up, arching a brow at him with amused surprise. "Well, that's either very good or very bad. What exactly are you thinking you want to try? A daring feat, a quiet conquest, hard drugs?"

Enjolras snorted, taking the teasing in stride, but didn't reply right away. His eyes lingered on the lines of Grantaire's face, tracing the little creases of laughter and sorrow that never seemed to ease entirely. He wondered how much of either he had caused. Finally, when Grantaire tilted his head a little, curious, Enjolras spoke. "Nothing quite like that. I am... I'm not entirely sure how to put it, and that's frustrating, because I'd want your full and informed consent."

"Hey," Grantaire said, and there was a gentle reassurance even in the lightness of his tone, elbow nudging against Enjolras’ side lightly. "You know I'm always up for explorations in bed. No kink-shaming here."

"It's not exactly a kink," Enjolras told him dryly, relaxing his arm enough that Grantaire could pull away freely, but leaving it close enough that he wouldn’t feel like _Enjolras_ was. "But I'd rather not dance on your concerns about intimacy. Would you be open to having sex with your mental barriers down, so to speak?"

Grantaire recoiled slightly, instinctively, the way he always did when reminded of his empathy. His shoulders stiffened, his breath caught on some uneasy precipice, frozen in a discomforted tableau. Enjolras nearly winced before Grantaire took a slow breath, and though his eyes were suddenly intense on Enjolras' face, the tension in his muscles eased. "Why?"

"Because I know you've forgiven me, but I've hurt you before," Enjolras murmured, tucking a few stray black curls back from Grantaire's face, fingertips lingering there a moment. "I don't blame myself, because neither of us knew what was at play, but all the same, my words and my thoughts have cut you. And I haven't earned your trust in that - I won't demand it either - but if it would be okay with you, I'd like to try to really, truly show you how much you mean to me and how beautiful I think you are."

"I like how you opened that conversation with the disclaimer," Grantaire said instead of answering right away, and as dry as his tone was, he sounded fond and thankful too. Sighing, long and deep, he worried his lip just a little and plucked absently at the fabric of the sheets even though he didn’t look away from Enjolras. "When you say you want to show me..."

"I mean that I want to focus on making you feel good in two ways at once." Enjolras made a bit of a face, nose crinkling up, frustrated at not being able to articulate it more clearly. "It sounds a lot less romantic and a lot more ridiculous if I say I want to loudly think nice things at you."

Grantaire laughed, a free and happy sound, and it made some of the weight and hesitation in the air lift, his grin lingering on his mouth for a moment as he slumped back in against Enjolras. "I dunno, I guess that's pretty romantic if you think of it the right way. I mean... I guess we could try? I've never actively attempted to listen like that before and I'm not sure how successful it would be, but if it was something that you wanted to give a try - I mean, I can't promise that it won't be a lot, either, and-"

"And if you're at all uncomfortable, or overwhelmed, or just aren't interested, I will stop in a moment," Enjolras promised him, reaching over to catch Grantaire's hand, pressing a kiss to his palm even as he saw him glance away. "Okay? I don't know if it would work either, and I don't want it to be bad for you. I just want to make you happy."

"You already make me happy." Grantaire was quiet for a moment, his gaze shy when his eyes finally flicked back up to Enjolras', something not quite nervous there alongside his resolve. "We can give it a try. I trust you."

Enjolras couldn't help the smile that turned up his mouth at that. "And that means the world to me. I trust you too, with everything."

Grantaire smiled back, bashfulness retreating as he shifted a little closer, head resting against Enjolras' shoulder once more. That was the end of the discussion for the moment, leaving both of them exhausted in its wake.

It was a week before they had another shared day off, and they spent the morning walking the streets near Enjolras’ apartment, lingering in the warm light of the sun and enjoying the quiet before they went inside. Still early in the afternoon, they cooked, heads bent together though Grantaire had by far the greater skill, tarrying there for a long while before wending back to the bedroom for the quiet and security.

Enjolras coaxed Grantaire in with lazy, gentle kisses, not wanting to rush the slow build up that would leave Grantaire relaxed and on the edge of languid. There was something relaxing about it, something sweet and welcome about the slow back and forth of their kisses, lingering and unhurried and exploratory.

Slowly, the tightness slipped away from Grantaire's limbs and spine as he leaned into Enjolras, kissing back. They stayed like that a while, seated on the bed with Grantaire straddling Enjolras' thighs, trading kisses that deepened bit by bit, warm and wet and welcome with an underlying softness, Enjolras curling a hand around the back of Grantaire's neck to keep him close and still.

"I'd like to," Enjolras murmured when they finally drifted back apart, Grantaire's eyes hazy and his cheeks faintly flushed. "Can I?"

"Yeah," Grantaire replied, voice a little hoarse and a little heavy, trepidation and trust side by side in his features as he smiled his crooked smile. "Yeah, okay."

Enjolras hummed, stealing one more kiss. "Thank you."

He couldn't have put it into words, the way it felt that Grantaire moved so easily at his slightest hint of a touch, off his lap and back onto the bed, brown eyes so aware on Enjolras' face. Enjolras pressed him back against the heap of pillows, resting some of his weight on Grantaire as he leaned in for more kisses, tender and more thoughtful all at once. But trying to convince him of this with kisses alone wasn't the point, and Enjolras cupped Grantaire's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together, warm and intimate.

"Will you let me show you?" he asked, more quietly than usual but just as certain and sure, wanting a more explicit confirmation. "Either way, I love you."

"Love you too," Grantaire murmured before he smiled, shy and soft and guarded. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, letting it out in a quiet, sustained breath. Enjolras tried to picture Grantaire dismantling his defenses, pushing away the walls he had started to tentatively build in his mind. His smile, this time, was brighter and all the more nervous. "Alright. Okay."

And that was the problem, because Enjolras wasn't quite sure how to start. It was easy, though, to smooth his thumbs over Grantaire's cheekbones, to press kisses to his forehead and the curve of his nose and the line of his jaw. It was easy to slide down and dip his head, pressing his mouth to the hollow under the hinge of his jaw, to linger with heart-clenching relief and amazement at the point of his pulse.

"You're gorgeous," he murmured, meaning it with his whole heart, his hands slipping down to find Grantaire's while he brushed another kiss to the curve of his neck, the muscle of his shoulder, the shallow shoals of his collarbones. Slowly, tentatively, he let his mind fill up with amazement, ceased to tamp the emotions down in the way he tried to do these days.

It was a feeling that lodged itself high in his chest and caught in his throat, because no one managed to make him feel in quite the way that Grantaire did. Enjolras slid his fingers over the buttons of Grantaire's shirt, nimbly freeing them without looking, searing affection into Grantaire's skin, sealing it in with kisses and suggestions of bites.

Already, Grantaire seemed overwhelmed, brows tight and mouth curved down at the edges when Enjolras flicked his eyes up, but he softened again in a moment, tentatively bringing a hand up to rest on the top of Enjolras' head.

"I like the way you look." Enjolras said it briefly, bluntly, matter-of-factly, letting his hands linger when he pushed Grantaire's shirt back off his shoulders, cotton worn and warm under his hands. He knew Grantaire didn't quite believe it, and he wouldn't say it again, because he didn't want to push, not when there was so much more he could say with touch and with the strange things that passed between them.

Grantaire shifted to finish sliding off his shirt before falling back against the pillows with a huff, not bothering to argue further. Normally, he was effusive even in bed, but today he was staying quiet and not quite solemn, his fingers brushing over Enjolras’ arm but not touching further. There was something still to his silence, nothing that set off alarm bells in Enjolras' head, but enough that he moved back up to kiss him easy, and in the space between their mouths, all the words fell away for a moment.

He found them again when they broke apart, resting their foreheads together. “You’re tense.”

“You don’t have to stop,” Grantaire sighed, hand slipping under Enjolras’ dreadlocks to curve around the back of his neck, a warm and welcome weight. “I just… I’m trying, but it’s a lot. It’s kinda hard.”

“Hard?” And Enjolras probably could have reassured him again, but it was the formality of that seemed to be tripping Grantaire up, so he let the corner of his mouth curl up as he shifted, thigh pressing a little harder between Grantaire’s legs. “Yes, I can tell.”

Grantaire paused for a moment before he laughed, the tension in his face vanishing as his eyes crinkled at the corners, settling again. “You did not just say that, you _dork_. You are the worst. C’mon, if I have to have my clothes off, so do you.”

“If you insist,” Enjolras demurred, amused, brushing a kiss to Grantaire’s jaw before he drew off his shirt, shifting back just long enough to let them both strip off their trousers and letting the clothes fall to the side carelessly, feeling Grantaire’s eyes burning into him as he leaned forward.

Easy enough, to retrace his path down, to ghost his mouth and his fingers over Grantaire's skin - paler than Enjolras' own but still dark, scattered with silvery scars and stray marks.

There wasn't much on his shoulders, but there was an old and faint discoloration under his collarbone, a scar so faded it was nearly gone. And as Enjolras' hands fit to the curve of Grantaire's side, his mouth traced down to press a kiss to the tattoo on his chest, the coiled snake that circled the world or ate its own tail and who could know, with Grantaire.

He brushed his thumb over the start of the scar on Grantaire's ribs and slipped down further, mouth brushing over it, following it down all the way to where it curled in across his stomach. A jittery panic flooded him for a moment, because no matter how many times he touched it, it still hit him that it was a knife scar sometimes, that if Grantaire were a little less skilled and a little less agile, he could have been dead again before Enjolras even found him. Instead, he let the thankfulness that it hadn't happened, the blooming adoration, the quiet amazement that Grantaire was so skilled fill him up, and he pushed it out, tried to let it sing like the Eolian harp Grantaire had shown him the last time they were at the museum, and pressed a kiss to his stomach.

He sighed, softly, and felt Grantaire shiver beneath him at the cool rush of air and he placed another kiss to the curve of his ribcage in apology. Enjolras explored, took his time, tongue tracing over lines of stretchmarks and the little creases that hadn't come from trauma but just from living. He lightly ran his finger over outlines of ink, sketching out the nettle plant that took up most of Grantaire's side, pressing just hard enough not to tickle along his ribs, and let the awe that _Grantaire had designed all of them on his own_ wash over him and linger.

And the entire time, Grantaire was quiet, occasionally letting out a silent gasp of sound when Enjolras sucked a faint bruise at a particularly sensitive spot, and Enjolras didn't even try to hide the curl of smugness in his chest when he managed to draw a moan from Grantaire. Down, and down, and down.

His fingers stroked along Grantaire's hips as he scorched a line of kisses across the curve of the pubic bone, nipping sharply. Enjolras didn't quite touch Grantaire's erection, though it was a reassurance that this didn't have him so anxious he wasn't enjoying the attention, and nuzzled fondly at his thigh. It wasn't so much a kiss as a brush of his lips to the soft, silky skin of Grantaire's inner thigh as he looked up at him and smiled, because the trust was overwhelming sometimes. When they'd started this, Grantaire never left his knife out of reach, just in case, and that there wasn't a pressure mark from the sheath made Enjolras dizzy with love and gratitude. From the breathless way Grantaire's eyes fluttered and then went wide, it was just as overwhelming for him.

Enjolras bent his head back down, touches so light, taking the time to appreciate each inch of skin, unmarked or not. He didn't tease, that wasn't the point, kissing and sucking at the sensitive little spots just enough to let Grantaire know that he knew where they were, to make him go boneless with pleasure and want against the stack of pillows.

His fingertips found the scar on Grantaire's thigh, the one he'd gotten from tripping over the coffee table, and he paused, wishing briefly there was a way to show as well that he didn't mind the scars that weren't visible. That he didn't mind the points Grantaire touched on his chest as he checked for blood (though he laid kisses there with reverence, like an offering at the altar, because they had died together), or way he still felt for blood at the back of his head, or the nightmares that woke him still too often.

But maybe he did, in the way that Grantaire had proven to Enjolras that his own invisible fault lines of trauma weren't something he resented, each time he held Enjolras' hand in his own in a way that went beyond an affectionate touch, or talked him down when he woke from his own nightmares of dead men. His own hands bloody and the ruthless, vicious choices he'd made, as cold as marble, echoing in his mind as Grantaire gently pressed for details so he could offer up the better things Enjolras had done, the people he’d tried to defend.

He buried his face in against Grantaire's thigh, so grateful, so helpless in the face of being loved so _much_ that he hardly knew what to do with it, that he shook at it sometimes, and loving Grantaire left him raw and scoured clean in a way that nothing else ever had.

Then Grantaire's hand was tangled loosely in Enjolras' dreadlocks, soothing and a question and an anchor for them both all at the same time. He shuddered, and kissed just above Grantaire's knee, then caught his arm gently enough not to make him startle, and kissed the pulse point at his wrist fiercely, letting his mouth linger for a long, long moment, feeling the rush of blood against his lips. Then, reassured, he repeated the gesture, softer, so much softer, so light he wondered if Grantaire could even feel it.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his own, kissing the heel of his hand and his palm, layering them up along his fingers, tongue lapping over the soft pads of his fingertips, shivering a little at the taste of salt and the lingering hints of lavender and lemon from cooking earlier. Grantaire let out another of his quiet gasps at that, and tentatively cupped his free hand to the curve of Enjolras’ cheek, and it was steady.

It wasn’t shaking, not now that he was four months sober, clear eyed and determined. And God, but that had been hellish, waiting it out and not being able to _help_ , though Jehan told him time and again that it wasn’t like Grantaire was alone in rehab, that Ernest (flask in pocket and cement block on his feet even in the afterlife) was watching him. Enjolras had waited and paced, and would never forget the tentatively proud look in Grantaire’s eyes, the way he looked exhausted but stood just a little taller.

He smiled up at Grantaire now, bright and clear and adoring, and turned his head to kiss the palm of his other hand, distracted by his thoughts, and watched the way the Grantaire returned it almost shyly. It was a strength Enjolras had never had and never needed, and it was humbling, the way Grantaire made Enjolras feel so _human_ in ways he never used to.

Still holding Grantaire’s other hand, he turned his attention back to it, studying the strong, scar marked lines of his fingers before sucking two of them into his mouth, letting out a happy hum at the weight of them against his tongue. Because Grantaire’s fingers were so clever, so well suited for his painting and his sketching and the way he wove ribbon together when he was bored and curled them around Enjolras’ cock and tugged just _right_.

Grantaire let out a strangled little moan, his head tipping back to expose the long line of his throat as Enjolras glanced up, and he smiled around his fingers, sucking harder before pulling off, satisfied to see the red flush over Grantaire’s cheeks and the sound of his quiet, panting breaths. Gently settling his hands back at Grantaire’s thighs, Enjolras nudged his legs apart and slid down further, distracted by the tattoos of thistles that started just above his ankles and curled down over his feet. Curling his hand around the outside of Grantaire’s ankle, hand fitting against the curve of skin and bone like it was meant to sit there, he kissed the top of his foot over part of the design, humming in appreciation.

“What?” Enjolras asked in response to Grantaire’s amused huff as he moved back up, hand riding the line of Grantaire’s calf to rest beneath his knee, his breath ghosting warm and wet over bare skin. “I like your tattoos.”

“You could always get some for yourself,” Grantaire pointed out, half dry and half teasing, voice hitching when Enjolras sucked a mark at the innermost crease of his thigh where the skin was warm and silky and delicate, breath coming out in a rush.

“Maybe sometime,” he replied, thoughtful, before very intentionally licking up the curve of his cock, earning another soft whine of a sound.

Pleased at that, he wrapped his mouth over the tip of Grantaire's cock, sucking wetly, fingers teasing along the shaft as he went deeper and deeper, pressing his tongue to the underside.

Enjolras sucked a little harder, hand wrapped around the rest, and closed his eyes, losing himself just a little in the hot, soft feel of it, the weight and the ache of his jaw. This felt like a service and it was one he was more than willing to offer up.

The first time they'd had sex had been against the wall of Enjolras' bedroom, with Grantaire on his knees and looking up at Enjolras like he was the light of the sun rising, eyes damp with devotion and not-quite-tears as he sucked and licked so, so slowly, not so much an act of worship as an action fully present. Even the grip of his hands on Enjolras' hips had been surprisingly gentle, thumbs smoothing over the smooth planes of his skin, mouth stretched wide and dark lashes spread soft over his cheeks like he would happily do so forever.

It felt that way so often, reverence turned respectful as Grantaire treated him so very carefully - not because he thought Enjolras was delicate, but because he _cared_. To be soft, to be tender here and now and to offer up even half of that was the least that he could do. And so Enjolras swallowed down more, until his nose brushed thick, dark curls, hooking one hand under Grantaire's knee to cock his leg up a little higher, fingertips brushing over velvety, nearly fragile skin.

Enjolras hummed softly, more in contentment than anything else, because he knew that Grantaire was utterly _present_ like this, splayed out on the bed and gasping soundlessly for air, curls tossed and fanning out on the pale pillowcases, the sun through the window warming and brightening his skin and the curve of his mouth. He was unselfconsciously _here_ and _now_ , beautiful in the cautious abandon, hips only barely rocking, hands curled in the sheets and eyes pressed tightly closed.

And Enjolras was so, so in love with him. Grantaire, who was clever in fifteen different ways and who, in the end, was solid and steady, stronger than he ever gave himself credit for. Grantaire, who tried so hard and was resilient when it would have been so easy to give up. Grantaire, who was made beautiful by his love and his confidence and his gentleness.

"Please," Grantaire begged, voice hoarse and rough and quiet, pitched only for Enjolras' ears. His dark eyes were wet with tears and he shivered with a faint and desperate tremor as he reached out a hand. "Please, come here?"

He was on the edge of overwhelmed, quaking harder than he should have from a simple blowjob, and Enjolras pulled off. In a lithe move he was up the bed, stretched out over Grantaire, just centimeters between their bare skin. Enjolras leaned in to kiss him, soothing and slow. "What do you want?"

"Just you," Grantaire replied, leaning up slightly as though he wanted to chase Enjolras' mouth. It was so unspecific, could mean anything, but Grantaire had that curve to his brows that said he just wanted to be touched, to be held, to be grounded yet still couldn't find the words to ask.

Enjolras kissed him again, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arm around Grantaire without ever breaking contact. Dragging his teeth over Grantaire's lower lip, he kissed away the faint sting after.

"I have you," Enjolras murmured, hardly more than a breath, his hand working between them to stroke Grantaire's still spit slick cock, slow and easy.

Grantaire whimpered, turning his face in against Enjolras' neck and shoulder as he pressed closer. His hand was wrapped around Enjolras' shoulder, holding tight, as he rocked his hips almost helplessly into Enjolras' fist, not making any sound more than the shuddering little breaths, hot and damp on Enjolras' skin.

He would fall apart soon, in Enjolras' arms, at his touch, and there was something so vulnerable about this that took Enjolras' breath away. Keeping his strokes steady and smooth, he rained kisses on Grantaire's temple and hair and cheek, holding him closer and tighter because he was so _important_ and something so _precious_.

Enjolras could feel Grantaire's muscles starting to tense and hear the faint hitches of breath, and he curled his hand just a little tighter but still slow, still easy, twisting a little on the upstroke. His thumb swept over the slit of Grantaire's cock, light enough not to be painful, and he continued his kisses, wanting to send him splintering over the edge.

Grantaire's aborted little moan caught in his throat as he came, almost as if he slipped over by surprise. But it was intense, had to be, because he buried his face even harder against Enjolras' shoulder, shoulders shaking with it.

“Alright?” Enjolras asked him softly, letting go just long enough to wipe his hand off on the sheet before he drew Grantaire a little closer. Grantaire nodded, but he held a little tighter, still trembling faintly, gasping a soft sob against Enjolras’ collarbone, tears hot against his neck. Worried, he sifted his fingers through Grantaire’s curls. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He sounded wrecked, though, voice too quiet.

Uncertain for a moment, Enjolras’ hold tightened a little and he pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s mess of curls, voice gentle when he asked, “Too much?”

That earned another nod and a shaky laugh, though Grantaire was still crying, wet and warm against Enjolras’ skin. “I know you’ve said… but I…”

“I love you,” Enjolras said, grasping it suddenly, letting the words settle into the quiet space between them, “without reservation or condition. I love you, and I trust you, and you are so precious to me. I wanted you to know.”

“I kinda got that feeling,” Grantaire murmured with a choked, breathless laugh. He curled closer, vulnerable and overwhelmed. “I love you too.”

Enjolras couldn’t help the smile. “I know.”

Sighing, Grantaire shifted more comfortably, jerking a little when his thigh pressed against Enjolras’ erection. He pulled back enough to look up in something close to dismay, hair in disarray and eyes red-rimmed from crying, face a little puffy. “Enjolras, why didn’t you say-”

“Don’t, it’s alright,” Enjolras murmured, chasing after Grantaire to kiss him quiet, mouth soft. He cupped his face in one hand, surprised at how much he missed the closeness of moments before. “I’m alright, I just want to hold you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Grantaire said slowly, raw and quiet. He stayed silent while Enjolras cleaned them up a little and coaxed him under the covers, going willingly when Enjolras pulled him back into his arms with a shaky sigh. It was too much almost, this unguarded affection and trust, almost to the point of feeling fragile.

But Grantaire curled into Enjolras instead of pulling away, pressing a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, and that felt like victory enough.


End file.
